more than you give
by sugar free vanilla
Summary: Castle and Beckett go undercover at a charity ball in pursuit of their killer. Season 4, oneshot.


**Season 4, I think? For both Jill and Bogi.**

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><p>It's probably the classiest undercover operation she's taken part in, the charity dance attended by the wealthiest, most beautiful people in New York City. She feels entirely out of place until Castle looks at her, that overwhelming affection in his eyes - and with that gaze on her there's no way she can feel anything but precious, the way he regards her like a forbidden treasure almost too much.<p>

"Who are we looking for again?" He whispers into her ear, leaning past her with the pretense of scooping two glasses of champagne from the tray one of the wait staff carries. He's been away for this entire case, much to his chagrin. Got off the flight into JFK after spending the last couple of weeks in LA and came straight here, stopping at the loft only to change and drop off Alexis, so he's not entirely up on the details.

"A server," she starts, and his eyes widen immediately turning his head back and forth frantically in an attempt to find where the waiter carrying the flutes had meandered off to. "Relax, Castle. Not our guy - not looking for a guy at all, actually. Female, late twenties to early thirties. Caucasian. Been known to change hair colour etcetera, so we've not got much else to go by, except a tattoo. It's on her neck though, so may be covered - three bird silhouettes behind her ear. We just need to circulate, see if we can find her or if anyone's seen any unusual behaviour. Maybe if they seem like they could be involved - she may have accomplices. Could be tricky, considering I doubt most of the guests here so much as acknowledge the staff, but it's all we can do. Ryan and Espo are in the kitchen, they'll let us know if they find anything." Her lips quirk. She kind of loves being able to pull rank sometimes, much prefers coasting around a ballroom in a pretty dress than being undercover as catering staff in a hot, sweaty kitchen.

"Got it," he states, passes her one of the glasses of golden fizz despite her insistences that she's on duty. "Appearances, Detective." He whispers.

She rolls her eyes but accepts the drink nonetheless, smiles up at his - retreating back. Oh.

"Time to mingle, Kate," is his departing remark, thrown over the back of his shoulder with a wink.

Huh. Well. It may have been her idea for them to fraternise with the other guests but she'd thought they'd be doing it _together._ Her gaze follows his path until he stops amongst a group of supermodel-gorgeous women and her eyes snap away as she swallows hard against the dark haze of jealousy that materialises without warning. She has a job to do, can't afford to be distracted by her feelings for him, not now.

Their murderer has been targeting the hosts of events such as this - four dead already, and there's a lot of pressure from 1PP to prevent another death. The slaughter (because the killings have not been pretty) of rich, powerful, philanthropists is high on the list of the NYPD's things to avoid, apparently. Captain Gates had decided that, as one of the biggest, most prestigious annual charity functions in Manhattan, the chances of the 'Benefactor Butcher', as the killer has been dubbed, striking again are high.

Kate's not so sure - they have a whole unit assigned to protect Godfrey Jennings, and as far as they've seen their culprit is nothing if not smart (and violent. Really violent). To her mind it's doubtful that someone so clever would try to strike when there's likely to be a high police presence - the cases have been all over the news, for God's sake. There's no way their killer hasn't twigged that this dance will be crawling with cops.

Still, the video footage had come through - a hidden camera that hadn't been recorded on the hotel where the last murder had taken place's security system and hadn't been tampered with was their lucky break. It had revealed the fairly petite, tattooed woman killing the humanitarian with the clawed end of a hammer and then carving up the body with a pocket knife. It had turned even Kate's stomach, strong from years of dealing with death.

The information from the tape allowed them to know what they were looking for exactly. The new details made witness statements a thousand times more useful, reports confirming the presence of a woman with the same tattoo working amongst the servers at each of the crime scenes.

She makes her way towards the bar, settles in one of the stools and twirls the champagne flute. It isn't long before she's greeted by a handsome man in what's probably a twelve thousand dollar suit.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He smarms, all smug swagger as he grins her way, white veneers glinting wolfishly.

Fighting the reflexive eye roll that threatens to manifest, she lifts her lips coyly, a minute shift that speaks of a million mysteries. She lifts her glass. "I'm good for a drink, thanks. But you can always lend me some company."

Disgust rolls up her spine. This isn't the man she wants to be flirting with, isn't the man who looks at her like she's golden, isn't the man who burst into her life like a breath of fresh air in a stale, musty room - but if there's even a chance she can glean some knowledge from this man and save a life then she can do it. He settles into the stool next to her, props an elbow on the bar and introduces himself. "Stephen," he introduces himself. "And you are?"

Proffering her hand and dipping her head slightly, she glances up at him from underneath the thick, dark fan of her lashes. "Kate. It's wonderful to meet you, Stephen." A wave of nausea trips up her throat in unsteady ripples when he kisses the back of her hand instead of shaking it. "I'm glad I decided to attend this now - almost didn't what with the Benefactor Butcher on the prowl."

"Mmm, would have been a terrible shame to have missed out on laying my eyes on you," the leer in his voice tells her in no uncertain terms that he'd like to set more than his gaze on her. "But we're not hosting the thing. Just old Godfrey who needs to be worried - and if he goes, good riddance, I say." He laughs callously, heartily, looks at her as if expecting her to join in. She forces out a dainty, false laugh as she realises she's trapped herself in this conversation with a complete asshole who seems to think the whole thing a joke - it's possible his unaffectedness stems from involvement, but unlikely. He's far too removed from the whole thing, too light.

Just then she feels a hand on her elbow.

"Honey, there you are! I've been searching all over the place." Scampering in her chest, her heart kicks up its rhythm a few dozen notches as Castle's voice wraps around her. "Been dying to dance with you."

She really should glare at him for his little act, at least pinch him as her arm snakes around his waist eagerly. Ought to keep up the pretense that this isn't exactly what she wants, every day of every week of every month of every year of the rest of her life. She can't quite bring herself to do so when she's this intoxicated by the warmth of his body, the delicious, dizzying scent of his cologne as she tucks herself into him.

"Rick, babe." His eyes widen a fraction at the pet name, delight brightening the blue. "This is Stephen."

"You know each other?" Castle asks, affable and friendly as he reaches over to shake the other man's hands, ignoring his look of distaste. "Good to meet you. Mind if I steal Kate away?"

"Go ahead," he answers the non-question bitterly, and Rick turns to lead Kate to the middle of the ballroom where people are waltzing in time to the music played by a small orchestra on a dais to the side of the room. As she moves to follow, her hand is snagged by a larger one, cold and clammy and pressing a sharp-edged business card into her palm. Lecherously, he winks, mouthing _call me. _Revulsion itches across her skin, crawling down her scalp and making her cheeks flush angrily as Stephen assumes she's got a wandering eye, would be interested on something on the side.

She takes pleasure in crumpling up the little cardboard rectangle, carelessly dropping it to the floor and making sure he sees. Discreetly shows him her middle finger for good measure.

Highly unprofessional, but entirely satisfying.

The dance floor is busy but not too crowded, ample space for them to glide around the room and fill each other in..

"You get anything from that slimebag?" Castle asks as he dips her, stealing her breath in the way he looms over her with his strong arms holding her up.

"Nothing, useless. How about you and your..." she gestures to the gaggle of women he'd been chatting up - _speaking _to - and she notes with satisfaction that the jealousy churning in her stomach at the thought of him with them seems to be reflected in the disgusted name he has for Stephen. At least she's not alone in her possessiveness.

Their chests are flush together when his phone buzzes in the inside pocket of his jacket, behind the lapel and the vibration oscillates through her and finds it's home in the wild flutter of her pulse. Pushing down her objections, she allows him to step away and retrieve the cell.

"Crap," he grimaces. "Boys have been calling you. Got a text from Espo. About a dozen from Ryan. Apparently they found an accomplice, got him down to the station for questioning."

Her bag is over at the coat check and how had she forgotten to take her phone out first? "I gotta go get it - I'll just be a minute."

Half of her hopes that he'll object, insist on following her but his eyes fix on someone just past her. "Hey, that's Sandra Mace - she's in charge of donations. I'll go talk to her about giving something while you're gone?"

She nods, smiles fondly as he walks away, watches after him for a brief moment before setting out on her own task. Of course he wouldn't come here without making a contribution.

She waits at the coat check for the immaculately groomed attendee to pass her purse over with a plastered-on, plastic smile and the expression of his wish that she have a fabulous evening.

When she pulls her phone from within the confines, she finds it's already ringing.

"Espo, hi." She cuts her usual answer of 'Beckett' and jumps straight to the point, steps outside the ballroom to take the call, enjoys the sharp chill of the evening air as she inhales deeply. "You break your guy?"

He grumbles something about her previous unavailability before answering her. "Yep. We got a name and a plan. Turns out our killer isn't as low-key as we thought a this one - and she's not after Godfrey."

"Stop with the suspense, Javi. There are lives in the balance."

"Right, fine." Her fellow detective's tone switches, becoming blunt and matter-of-fact. "Sandra Mace - she's been in disguise at the previous killings but she's in the system for a drunk and disorderly a few years back. Common tattoo, but it's a match to her." Sandra Mace.

Castle.

_Castle._

Her mouth goes dry, vision blurring as fear boils her blood and sets her lungs on fire. Pushing the heavy doors to the ballroom open, she hurries back in and struggles to focus her foggy gaze on anything as she scans the huge space for any sign of her partner.

"And her plan?" She chokes out. "Who's she targeting if not Godfrey?"

"No predetermined victim. She's head of donations - apparently she's planning on taking her pick of people who give money. To take them into a little room upstairs under pretence of sorting details and then-"

She hangs up.

She doesn't need any more detail than that.

Twisting through the bodies that amass in front of her like a continuous blockade, Kate stretches onto her toes, craning her neck for any sign of her partner. Not bothering to quell the panic licking acid flames up her quaking spine, she focuses all her energy on finding him.

Before it's too late.

From the corner of her vision she sees some of the guests she knows to be undercover cops moving to the doors, a couple of them pressing earpieces more firmly to their heads and the room spins, swirling in a riot of angry colours until the rainbow merges into a sludge-brown that hazes her vision even further and she may as well be blind, bile rising in her throat.

Her heel snags in the long skirt of her dress as she jerks around in her desperation to find him, the material ripping and she couldn't care less despite the cost of the gown.

Broad shoulders that she knows all too well catch her eye, disappearing through a tiny side door with the petite frame of a woman looking slight in comparison as she she ushers him forward and _that's it_, that's them, that's him and that's her.

LT is close, back at the coat check and she grabs him, grateful for the familiar face as she discards her stilettos mid run. She's sure she flashes a few people, but Beckett couldn't care less as she hitches her skirt to grab her Sig from the holster on her thigh.

She's first through the door, watches the claws of a hammer bear heavily down on Castle's right shoulder from behind. He's sitting unassumingly at the desk, ready to sign the papers and give a large sum to charity as the blow lands and as agony explodes over his face, so does her gun. Her three shots find Mace, two in the right shoulder and one in the upper arm and the woman drops her weapon with a scream.

Beckett's clatters to the floor too and she leaves LT and the other cops that followed behind to apprehend their killer.

She only has eyes for Castle, hands finding his shoulder and coming away red with his blood.

"Castle - are you okay?"

"Thanks to you," he laughs shakily, face white with pain and she has no idea how he can feign being okay with the deep wounds in his shoulder.

"I thought she was going to kill you - that I'd be too late," she chokes, the words suffocating her on a sob and she can't help but press her lips to his temple. "I thought I'd lost you."

"No, no. Never," Castle promises, shifting his head to brush his mouth to her cheek and setting her nerves on fire. To hell with it, she thinks, decides to give in to what every cell in her body screams for her to do.

When her lips find his, it's only the interruption of the paramedics minutes later that tear them apart.

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><p><strong>Let's pretend this title makes sense to the fic and I wasn't just randomly plucking at words.<strong>

**tumblr: castleholic**

**twitter: _sfv**


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